SPACE | PLACE | MOBILITY | MEMORY

In this blog I wish to sound off
about – or provide some considered critical reflections on, you decide which it
is – the process of obtaining research ethics approval for projects that employ
what may broadly be understood as autoethnographic methods. The subject matter
for this blog entry has come about as a result both of observing (in ways that,
I guess, qualify as autoethnographic reflection) how research ethics
considerations are being administered procedurally, and as part of a process of
broader critical engagement with questions of method as these apply to debates
and practices in the spatial humanities. In respect of the latter, these
thoughts have been developed in more expansive form in two publications that I
have been working on for the past year or so, a monograph Spatial Anthropology: Excursions in Liminal
Space (Roberts 2018a), and a special issue of the online open-access
journal Humanities, which I guest
edited under the title of: Spatial Bricolage: Methodological Eclecticism
and the Poetics of ‘Making Do’ (Roberts 2017-18).

But first of all let me address the
titular reference to ‘covert autoethnography’. To date, the only occasion that
I have been confronted with this most intriguing of methodological strategies
is at a procedural level (i.e. as raised in the course of trying to secure
institutional ethics approval for a research project). My initial response when
presented with the idea of ‘covert autoethnography’ was one of bemusement.
Covert ethnography clearly makes
sense and is entirely legitimate to raise in relation to research ethics
considerations. But covert autoethnography
made about as much sense to me as the idea of covert masturbation (try it, see
if you can go all the way without noticing). Then I pondered it some more and,
while I would maintain that it is unquestionably a meaningless term and entirely
unworkable as a concern premised on the delivery of a practical response, it
does nevertheless raise interesting questions as to the where a line may be
unambiguously drawn between autoethnography and ethnography in terms of the
‘visibility’ of the researcher (as distinct from a ‘regular’ individual going
about his or her everyday business). This is where the masturbation analogy
doesn’t hold up so well. If I am autoethnographically attuned to the world of
phenomena to which my attention is turned, then, in the first instance at
least, it is myself to whom I am accountable. For it not to be so would be to
abrogate any sense of my being able to authoritatively reflect on matters based
on what I myself have directly observed and understood from what is going on in
the world around me. As with the art of sexual self-service, this does not pose
too great a problem when the activity is confined to the individual in his or
her capacity as a lone operator. The minute the autoethnographer and/or onanist
then plies their trade in public we are confronted with an altogether different
ethical scenario. One of these figures will end up being bundled into the back
of a police car and driven briskly away, and few would see this as any major
infringement on basic human rights. The other – the autoethnographer – is
saddled with a less conspicuous sense of social responsibility whereby any
potential ethical transgression is less (nakedly) transparent. Its realisation
can only ever be deferred if, indeed, it is ever made manifest at all. Any
ethical concerns will only be revealed as such to the extent that any other
parties that are drawn in to the orbit of the working autoethnographer feel
they have been misled or taken advantage of in some way. The autoethnographer
clearly does not operate in a social vacuum, and in that respect, unless making
their researcher ‘identity’ a matter of very evident disclosure (perhaps by
wearing some sort of hat with the words ‘autoethnographer at work’ emblazoned
on the peak, or by requesting written consent before engaging in any and every form
of social interaction), s/he is by definition acting ‘covertly’. And therein
lies the rub.

‘In practice,’ argues American communications
scholar Arthur Bochner, ‘autoethnography
is not so much a methodology as a way of life. It is a way of life that
acknowledges contingency, finitude, embeddedness in storied being, encounters
with Otherness, an appraisal of ethical and moral commitments, and a desire to
keep conversation going’ (2013: 53). If we accept that autoethnography is a way of life, or that, in practice,
it is indivisible from how we might routinely engage with others as part and
parcel of everyday social discourse, then clearly it is not a ‘method’ that can
(or should be) rigorously policed through the imposition of a standardised code
of institutional research ethics. The regrettable connotation that the term
‘covert autoethnography’ undoubtedly helps reinforce is the idea that the
practice of autoethnography can be neatly assigned to a specific social arena
or period of time. This does, of course, depend as to what (or where) constitutes
the ‘field’ of research practice in any given instance. But more often than not
the researcher does not find themselves in a position where they might
purposely declare ‘OK, I’m ready – now I am going into the field, putting my
autoethnographer’s hat on and getting down to business’. It generally doesn’t
work that way. Autoethnography may not necessarily be thought of as autoethnography at the time and place
from whence narrative observations have been reflexively drawn; it is entirely
conceivable that their significance may only be registered as noteworthy
retrospectively (i.e. in the form of autoethnographic memory).

In ‘Spatial bricolage: the art of
poetically making do’ (Roberts 2018b), I address these and related concerns
with specific reference to the idea of the ‘researcher-as-bricoleur’ (Denzin
and Lincoln 2011) and to an interdisciplinary understanding of space and
its practice as a form of bricolage:
of methodologically ‘making do’. As I note in that article, the eclecticism of
bricolage methods can invite accusations of superficiality and lack of rigour.
In such circumstances the researcher-as-bricoleur comes across as a
‘jack-of-all-trades’ (and, by implication, master of none), someone who plays
fast-and-loose with established research methods and paradigms. By way of
illustration, critical pedagogist Joe
Kincheloe describes problems he and his students encountered at university
committee meetings and job interviews when advancing the merits of bricolage
(and by extension interdisciplinary) approaches to their work as academics.
‘Implicit in the critique of interdisciplinarity’, he writes, ‘and thus of
bricolage as its manifestation in research is the assumption that
interdisciplinarity is by nature superficial’ (2001: 680-1). A commitment to
research eclecticism – of ‘allowing circumstance to shape methods employed’
(Kincheloe et al 2011: 168-9) – can thus be seen, by some, as inherently
problematic and something that shouldn’t really be encouraged. Putting what Norman
Denzin refers to as the ‘Performative-I on stage’ or seeking to get recognition
of autoethnography as a ‘disruptive practice’ (Denzin 2014: 11, 23) are not the
easiest of propositions to sell to the average ethics review committee or
institutional review board:

The IRB
[institutional review board] framework assumes that one model of research fits
all forms of inquiry, but that is not the case. This model requires that
researchers fill out forms concerning subjects’ informed consent, the risks and
benefits of the research for subjects, confidentiality, and voluntary
participation. The model also presumes a static, monolithic view of the human
subject. Performance autoethnography, for example, falls outside this model…
Participation is entirely voluntary, hence there is no need for subjects to
sign forms indicating that their consent is ‘informed.’ The activities that
makes up the research are participatory; that is, they are performative, collaborative,
and action and praxis based. (Denzin 2003: 249-250)

In a similar vein, bringing a
performative and autoethnographic sensibility to the sociocultural study of
space is to take it as read that our understanding and experience of space is
itself action and praxis based. To question
a space by the simple act of stepping into it is, by definition, already a
breach of boundaries. We cannot roam wherever we like whenever we like but
where lines are ‘legitimately’ drawn in any given scenario is fuzzy at best.
However much (or little) truck a university ethics committee might have with
the argument that researchers themselves should be at liberty to exercise some
degree of ethical circumspection, the fact remains that, within the framework
of what is deemed possible (if not necessarily defensible), the responsibility
for action lies with the actor. As Marilys
Guillemin and Lynn Gillam point out, procedural ethics and ‘ethics in
practice’ are not the same thing; the latter – the day-to-day ethical issues
that arise during the course of research activity – are subject to the
reflexive considerations that the researcher is faced with as s/he responds to
events and experiences as they present themselves in practice. Reflexivity thus
‘comes into play in the field, where
research ethics committees are not accessible’ (2004: 274), making it,
from a procedural point of view (i.e. that of a research ethics committee or
institutional review board), a concept that is not even afforded any ethical
significance (as if the ethical ‘work’ can be got out of the way at committee
stage and any subsequent reflexivity on the part of the researcher restricted
to matters solely practical, not ethical).

Reflexivity lies at the core of how
and why the autoethnographer does what s/he does. Attention is thrown back on
to the researcher in the field, not as an exercise in self-indulgence, but to
recognise that the process of ‘making do’ requires the researcher to step in to
any given space in ways that her presence
– her creativity and performance; her intersubjectivity; her body; her
experience – becomes constitutive of
that space. In this respect, the spatial bricoleur is as autoethnographically
invested in the space or spaces he immerses himself in as he is in any other
that are routinely encountered in everyday life. For the autoethnographer ‘in
the field’ it is no more possible to maintain a non-dialogical distinction
between procedural ethics and ethics-in-practice as it is in any other
socio-spatial context. This does not mean that ethical considerations made ‘in
practice’ automatically trump those made procedurally, or that they extend
licence, by default, to the reflexively aware researcher. What it does point to
is the pedagogic presumption of what Denzin calls a ‘communitarian dialogical ethic of care and responsibility. It
presumes that performances occur in sacred aesthetic spaces where research does not operate as a dirty
word’ (2014: 80, emphasis in original). On the part of the institution, it may
not be that the risks themselves are considered high or of any immediate concern
in terms of the research outline being proposed. It may instead simply be that
the very idea of academic research as ‘bricolage’ or that methods may be
applied in an ‘eclectic’ fashion (or, indeed, that the merits of chance,
provocation or performativity are being earnestly promoted) is enough to raise
the alarm bells (not to mention the eyebrows of administrators and the legions
of bureaucrats who have secured a well-established foothold in the neoliberal
academy). On that basis alone, the case for making autoethnography and the
researcher-as-bricoleur as a focus of critical discussion is, I am suggesting,
persuasive and cogent.

In seeking to cast a much-needed
critical spotlight on the regime of qualitative research ethics scrutiny it is
important to stress that my intention is not in any way to play down the seriousness
of ethical matters as they relate to academic research practices and methods.
Nor is it to suggest that research ethics should be wrested free from all forms
of procedural governance and administration. My aim is not even to make the
rather obvious point that the current system of research ethics scrutiny is
demonstrably out of step with the practical realities faced by many academics
and their students working in research environments where eclecticism,
interdisciplinarity, some degree of bricolage, or of creativity and
performativity, has long been the norm. Rather than making a case against the
imposition of research ethics frameworks, my intention, if anything, is the
opposite. It is to make the case for research ethics to be thought about
differently; to persuade those that need persuading that procedural ethics and
ethics-in-practice are, or should be, a conversation: an open, flexible, and
above all dialogical ethic of care and responsibility. Procedural ethics should
not be just an instrumental mechanism to dictate what ethics-in-practice
unbendingly need to comply with, with all the inflexibility and standardisation
that such a one-way discourse helps cement. A procedural ethics that
understands and respects the idea of experiential ethics-in-practice is one
that recognises that qualitative researchers, as with any other academic,
whatever their methodological orientation, are qualified professionals whose
skill-set, by definition, extends to their having to make ethical judgements
and reflexive decisions ‘on the go’ (that is to say: in practice). They do not park their ethical responsibilities once
they’ve been given institutional approval and set out for the field with the
knowledge that they’ve been ‘cleared’ for ethically appropriate action. They
bring ethics to their practice as critically reflexive and socially engaged
researchers whose responsibility, as they see it, also extends to the provision
and sustainability of productive research environments for their students. A
procedural ethics that understands and respects this ethos is one that
recognises that students also need to be given the space to work through
ethics-in-practice as part of their own journey towards becoming critically
reflexive and socially engaged citizens, wherever their professional careers
may take them. From a critical pedagogical standpoint, talk of ‘covert
autoethnography’, with its Orwellian overtones (the implication that critical
reflection should be held in check lest the very act of thinking infringes on
the rights of others) thus more than justifies a committed ethical response. In
making the case for ethics-in-practice, this blog provides a small, but
hopefully not too insignificant contribution to this unfolding conversation.

https://www.degruyter.com/viewbooktoc/product/433816The contemporary fields of the study of culture, the humanities and the
social sciences are unfolding in a dynamic constellation of cultural
turns. This book provides a comprehensive overview of these
theoretically and methodologically groundbreaking reorientations. It
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for the work of a wide range of disciplines. In addition to chapters on
the interpretive, performative, reflexive, postcolonial, translational,
spatial and iconic/pictorial/visual turns, it discusses emerging
directions of research. Drawing on a wealth of international
research, this book maps central topics and approaches in the study of
culture and thus provides systematic impetus for changed disciplinary
and transdisciplinary research in the humanities and beyond - e.g. in
the fields of sociology, economics and the study of religion.

Table of Contents

Introduction: Cultural Turns - New Orientations in the Study of Culture 1-37Chapter I: The Interpretive Turn 39-71Chapter II: The Performative Turn 73-101Chapter III: The Reflexive/Literary Turn 103-130Chapter IV: The Postcolonial Turn 131-173Chapter V: The Translational Turn 175-209Chapter VI: The Spatial Turn 211-243Chapter VII: The Iconic Turn/Pictorial Turn 245-278Outlook: Are the Cultural Turns Leading to a Turn in the Humanities and Study of Culture? 279-298

Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. ISBN: 9781137498557Toward an Urban Cultural Studies is a call for a new interdisciplinary area of research and teaching. Blending Urban Studies and Cultural Studies, this book grounds readers in the extensive theory of the prolific French philosopher Henri Lefebvre. Appropriate for both beginners and specialists, the first half of this book builds from a general introduction to Lefebvre and his methodological contribution toward a focus on the concept of urban alienation and his underexplored theory of the work of art. The second half merges Lefebvrian urban thought with literary studies, film studies and popular music studies, successively, before turning to the videogame and the digital humanities. Benjamin Fraser's approach consistently emphasizes the interrelationship between cities, culture, and capital.

The editors of The People, Place, and Space Reader believe
that knowledge should be open to the public and have therefore decided to
publicly share their writing in the form of the book introduction and twelve
section introductions. If open access (OA) selections from the reader are
available, they are hyperlinked on the pages.

MyStreet is a living on-line
archive of everyday life, encouraging you to make your mark and bring your area
to life through film.

MyStreet
revives the radical project at the centre of the 1930s Mass Observation
movement (founded by the anthropologist Tom Harrison, poet Charles Madge, and
film-maker Humphrey Jennings). This earlier quasi-anthropological attempt to
democratize ethnography in the service of the 'everyday', combined with the
potential of film as a vehicle of contestation within the public sphere led to
the creation of a digital project documenting life in the UK and above all in
London.

MyStreet has
set out to unleash the potential of a new form of collaborative anthropology,
to grasp the 'minor' importance of the non-canonical media expressions that My
Street provides a forum for, and also a means of dissemination. The project
rests on an appreciation of the transformative power of 'minor' practices but
also attempts to circumvent decaying print-age vehicles. MyStreet aims to
provide a window onto, and means of active assertion by, those marginalized
sections of the population whose voices are not heard or who, too often, the
state seeks to suppress and incarcerate.

Spatial HumanitiesPosted by Les Roberts 16 Jun, 2013 13:45:35Tim Ingold is a preeminent anthropologist, Chair of Social Anthropology
at the University of Aberdeen. Fellow of the British Academy and the Royal
Society of Edinburgh and author of numerous books on anthropology. Taking an
unconventional view of his discipline. Professor Ingold tries to bring the “4
A’s” [anthropology, architecture, archaeology, and art] together, looking at
the ways in which environments are perceived, shaped, and understood.